Mass Effect: Demons & Ghosts
by Turbooggyboy
Summary: Four years after the activation of the Crucible, the galaxy is rebuilding. Former Spectre and Alliance Commander John Shepard was initially presumed missing, but now leads a life of relative anonymity on Illium with Miranda Lawson. Years of unrelenting struggle has put a strain on his mental state, and as the galaxy moves on, Shepard is fighting the past.
1. Ghosts

_Author notes: This is the first fanfiction piece that I have ever written/published. Enjoy! - J.B_

 **Chapter I: Ghosts**

Shepard woke up abruptly, adrenaline pumping in his veins and the blaring of Reaper sirens in his ears. His vision was cloudy and before his eyes, an inferno and the bodies mutilated by the Geth under Harbinger's command.

Then. Silence. A puff of wind cooling his sweaty back and a soft hand on his left shoulder.

"Did it happen again?" a soft female voice, sleepy, with an australian accent. Shepard reached around with his right hand, grasped Miranda's hand gently but firmly. He could feel his eyes water, but no tears were shed. He looked out the panoramic windows that overlooked the skyline of Ilium's capital Nos Astra. A band of shuttles travelling across the city formed moving ribbon of light above the pristine but deceiving city. Shepard took a heavy breath and laid down in the luxurious pearl-white bedsheets. Miranda cozied up beside him, laying her head between his head and shoulder. Her scent was pleasant, he thought, but fleeting as he could feel dark thoughts trying to rip him from this reality. Before his conciousness began its journey into a dreamscape, he could hear the words that haunted him day and night.

Now you are alone, Shepard

The sun was on the rise, reminiscent of a sunrise on Earth. Shepard woke up at seven-thirty, alone in the spacious bed of the exclusive apartment. He could hear the clattering of utensils from the kitchen and whispered curse words. He sat on the bedside for a few minutes, trying hard not to think about the nightmares and interrupted sleep. He put on his ultramarine bathrobe hanging by the bedside and walked out into the kitchen to find Miranda all dressed and struggling with a dish similar to an omelette.

"Hey," Shepard said quietly, walked up behind her, and kissed her neck. Miranda sighed pleasantly

"I'll never get the hang of this," she said. "Why can't I be like normal people in even the simplest of situation. Can't even cook a bloody...whatever this is..."

Shepard chuckled and walked over to the refridgerator and took out a jar of green juice.

"It's because nothing about our lives is normal. No matter how much we pretend," Shepard said with a smile. Mirandra looked at the mess on the stove and back at Shepard. She chuckled same as he. Shepard took a sip of the green liquid and looked at the sunrise. His smile faded.

"You know I wish there was something I could do for you," Miranda said, noting a hint of melancholy. "We...you went through hell, and back, and even though the John I know is tough as nails..." she paused and walked up to him, took his right hand and rubbed it tenderly. "...even he has limits."

Shepard didn't let his vision, fixed on the horizon, slip. He felt Mirandas hand caressing his, but her warmth was fleeting.

"It's hard. Trying to fathom all the darkness that seeps out into my conciousness. I am aware of my condition; but powerless to stop it," Shepard said. Miranda remained silent.

"I think I'm getting worse too. I keep hearing him, it, Harbinger. Even saying its name fills me with dread. After so many years, this irrational fear of a demon defeated and destroyed," Shepard continued without moving a muscle.

"You compartmenalized, we all did. It was bound to erupt at some point. Point is, you're not a lost cause!" Miranda said.

"Perhaps not, but I can't face this much longer without losing my mind completely," Shepard said with a twitch in his abdomen, as if losing balance.

"You're not alone in this. I will dedicate my life to helping you," Miranda said.

"Why?" Shepard said and turned to her. "You're the most intelligent, cunning and brillant person I have ever met. Why waste all that potential on a crippled mind?" Miranda's lower lip shook for a split second, and she was seldom prone to involuntary physical reactions.

"Because I love you," she whispered, as if to herself. "And because I've spent the better part of my life in a world of rational thought, cunning and science. If I could use all that potential for bad, using it for good to help one of the few people I deeply care about seems like a good idea!" she said. Shepard sat down by the kitchen table and put his elbows on the table, letting his face sink into his cupped hands. Miranda walked up behind him and put her arms around him, giving him a hug.

"I wouldn't know what to do without you," Shepard said and sighed. Miranda saw a few droplets fall onto the frosted glass pane and held Shepard tighter.

The office of Alan Worth, one of few human psychologists on Illium was located far from the glamorous towering skyline of central Nos Astra. His residential estate where he received his patients was modest, modern, bright and inviting. It was of an appealing design, meshing Asari aestethics with Human functionality. Shepard arrived alone via shuttle service, dressed in a casual green jacket and beige fatigues. Alan had no doubt been given notice of his imminent arrival and came walking across the marbled courtyard to greet him. He was an older man, wrinkled but in no way decrepit. He wore a casual beige outfit, spartan but certainly tailored specifically for him.

"John!" he exclaimed. His casual, loud approach was appealing to Shepard.

"Mr. Worth," he greeted him back and shook his hand.

"Please, come inside, come inside! I trust the trip was to your satisfaction? Way out here we don't see many humans!"

"Pleasant enough. The landscape is fantastic," Shepard said and looked around the evergreen garden of both foreign and familiar flora. They walked across the marble courtyard and the shuttlecraft whizzed away and soon the surrounding birds and insects were the only audible sounds except for Alan's excited nasal voice.

"I must say, when I got the appointment schedule from my assisstant, seeing your name was quite unexpected. What brings you to Illium?" Alan asked in a more reserved voice.

"Anonymity," Shepard said. "The galaxy is big, but I figured this is the place to go truly unnoticed,"

"Yes, indeed. Illium is many things but foremost a sprawl where you can truly immerse yourself in everything the galaxy has to offer," Alan said. "Let us get you comfortable," he said and they entered the estate.

Alan's office was modern, spacious and bright. The panoramic windows behind the white desk in the center overlooked the courtyard and the surrounding lush gardens. The left-hand wall was covered by a massive dark wooden vintage bookshelf. The right-hand side had two bright beige armchairs facing each other. Alan pointed to the one facing the panoramic windows.

"Please, take a seat," he told Shepard then activated a discrete omni-tool on his sleeve and the windows started to darken slightly. He sat down oppositr Shepard, leaned in toward him and let his two hands touch by the fingertips.

"John Shepard. Hero of the Skyllian Blitz and the reason we're all alive, really. What is it that brings you to visit an old man in exile on a world of excess and wealth?"

"I've hesitated, you know. Seeing someone to deal with the aftermath of such an endeavour, a mission of such scope that it seems unfathomable at times, has been hard," Shepard explained, never meeting Alan's eyes. Alan leaned back, and his almost youthful mannerisms were all gone.

"You lose track of yourself, committing yourself to become something greater and leave your sense of self behind. I did that, I locked my true self away one too many times trying to brace for what was ahead of us, the next mission, the next tragic loss of life," Shepard said, emptiness in his eyes.

"And your sense of self? Has it returned?" Alan asked calmly. Shepard shook his head subtly.

"I don't know. Sometimes...maybe," he said. "I have these episodes, nightmares and blackouts,"

"Have you ever hurt yourself during these...episodes or blackouts?" Alan asked. Shepard could hear the honest compassion in his voice. It helped keep the tears back. He shook his head. "I fear I might, either myself or Miranda,"

"Miranda?" Alan asked. Shepard sat quiet for a moment. Alan poured a glass of water from an ornate pitcher and handed it to Shepard. He took a small sip.

"She is my one point of reference to what is real," Shepard said quietly.

"A partner," Alan said. Shepard nodded.

"I am aware that having a partner as some sort of guarantee for your mental well-being is a no-no," Shepard said, his eyes opened up wide, "But she is all I have now. We live our isolated life away from it all,"

Alan took notes on his omni-tool and adjusted his position in the armchair. "These nightmares, what are they about?"

"Harbinger," Shepard said.

"Harbinger?" Alan asked. Shepard was surprised. He had lived so intertwined with the fate of the Reapers, the mere thought that someone didn't know what Harbinger was like a revelation. He could see the final stretch toward the Conduit in London before his eyes. In the distance, Harbinger towering over the destruction. He shook his head and the flashback ended.

"Harbinger was the...Reaper...that led the assault on Earth. It was also the puppeteer behind the 'Collector' threat," Shepard explained. Alan took notes.

"Why is it the focal point of your nightmares," Alan asked.

"I've been trying to figure that out. But all my reasoning seems to be dead ends these days," Shepard said.

"Can it perhaps be so that because this Harbinger figure seems to have been at the center of enemy activity for so long, it acts as a representation of your fears?" Alan asked. Shepard thought long and hard about it. He'd been afraid that exposure to the Reaper's indoctrination might have played a role in his mental state. That he was slowly deteriorating to become a husk. But he had never thought of Harbinger as a mere ghost, a figure to represent his mind bulging under severe mental and physical stress.

"Perhaps," Shepard answered, reserved but cautiously optimistic. Alan took note of his response.

"Know this; feeling this way is not unique. Although the circumstances triggering you are, and that is what we have to get to the heart of if I'm to be successful in treating you," Alan said with a smile. He stood up and held out a hand to Shepard who took it and came to his feet.

"Thank you for listening to me," Shepard said. "It took me a while to get this far, but it feels like I've started on a path to something good."

"It is often a long journey, but as long as you take the time to gaze inward with no fear of what you'll find, I am confident we'll put you on the right path, son," Alan said and put a wrinkled hand on Shepard shoulder.


	2. Outing

_Author notes: This chapter examines the life of Shepard and Miranda on Illium. How do you_ _pick up the pieces of a former life when that life does not exist? What content do you fill your life with?_

 **Chapter II:** **Outing**

Miranda was out. The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the occasional whizz of a shuttlecraft passing by closely. A faint scent of cleaning detergent stung in Shepard's nose. They had a very shy Volus cleaner that popped in whenever they were both out, it was part of the exorbitant rates they paid to be living in the luxurious apartment section of the skyscraper.

Shepard sat down in the wide angled sofa in the center of the living room. There he could watch the busy traffic coming in and out of one of Nos Astra's massive space port complexes. It was amazing, he thought, that the entire populated galaxy could be torn asunder so violently, but after all that torment, life still went on as usual for the majority. One could of course see the scars of the Reaper's ravaging, damaged skyscrapers and scorched ground, but considering the scope of the conflict it wasn't all that bad.

Shepard's omni-tool buzzed and Mirandas face appeared, a photograph he had taken of her some week after their post-war reunion. He admired it, almost forgetting to read the message she'd sent.

" **I know you're back. Don't sit there all alone. Join me at Jel Valar in an hour. Otherwise I'll come get you! Tell the steward you're meeting a Miss Dinaris"** the message read. Shepared chuckled.

Although he knew Miranda would never spy on him, her natural ability to know everything showed itself more often than not. Shepard opened up the wardrobe in the bedroom, it was always nostalgic. His formal Alliance attire hung neatly at the end of the rail, wrapped in protective transparent plastic. He took a second to reminisce about his former life, the one he had even before Eden Prime. The life of a soldier, with all that it entailed. It also reminded him of Anderson, his mentor and the only father figure he had ever had. It reminded him of Ashley, lost on Virmire all those years ago, and the crew of the first Normandy. Brave men and women who never faultered in the face of danger. Shepard took his hand and gave the uniform a nostalgic stroke and sighed deeply. He shut the wardrobe after switching to a semi-formal dark grey jacket and dark trousers and left the apartment donning his dark leather shoes specifically acquired for evening dining.

Jel Valar was not the most exclusive restaurant and entertainment venue in Nos Astra, but it was one of the few that was located in downtown but still catered to the growing middle class on Illium. Most of the clientele were employees of major corporations located on the unscruplous world; researchers, accountants, engineers, amd the list went on. The main floor, and also the point of entry was a massive circular room on the one-hundredth floor of the Tarishi Corporation tower. The entire floor had no walls, but was instead enveloped by a transparent kinetic shield that blocked wind and matter but allowed for a spectacular view of downtown Nos Astra.

Shepard entered through the entrance in the center of the room, coming out on a central podium that overlooked hundreds of tables and the three bars. Upon exiting the elevator he was greeted by a Salarian wearing formal attire and a discrete headset.

"Greetings, distinguished guest! What may Jel Valar offer you on this wonderful evening? Perhaps a taste of head chef Tolas' flamboyantly prepared seafood from the exotic depths of an ocean world known only to him," the Salarian steward said in the distinct seemingly stressed manner of his species. Shepard raised a hand in a polite manner to have the excited Salarian stop hyping food that would probaby leave him spending the next twenty-four hours in a bathroom.

"I am here to meet a Miss Dinaris," Shepard said, internally grimacing at Miranda's code names. She wondered what she might have chosen to call him this time.

"Alright then, Mister Biggles, right this way!" the Salarian said just as he darted away. Shepard did his best to keep up as he zig-zagged between the tables. Shepard noticed that most of the guests belonged to the three council races other than humans. Many Asari, a great deal of Salarians but few Turians. A few Hanar patrons were located by the bar and at one table a lone Elcor. Shepard didn't know why, but he'd always had a sweet spot for the grey lumbering creatures.

After a navigating a labyrinth of tables and seats they found Miranda, sitting by herself and sipping on an exotic swirl of alien spirits at a table near the kinetic barrier separating the restaurant from the edge of the building. She wore an elegant evening dress sparkling in gold, reflecting the perfect lighting of the hovering chandeliers and the setting sun.

"Miss Dinaris, I present to you Mister Biggles," said the clueless Salarian. Miranda could barely contain her laughter, awkwardly biting her lower lip. Shepard rolled his eyes and chuckled. The Salarian bowed toward them both and left post-haste.

"So...Mr Biggles?" Shepard asked with a smirk on his lips. Miranda put her index finger and thumb on her upper nose, leaned forward and laughed. "It was a joke, between me and Oriana. We found a stray creature in the garden of our father's estate. I'm still unsure of what it was, but we were very fond of it and named it Mister Biggles," she explained after coming to her senses.

"And Dinaris?" Shepard asked curiously. Miranda looked him deep in the eyes, as if gazing at his soul.

"It's a performer. Was. She was greek and composed the most beautiful dance and music performances of this century. I hate to bring this up, but when it seemed like I had lost you, I found some comfort in her words and rythms,"

Shepard looked down on the table, browsing the evening's menu that was holographically projected onto the table. To distract himself from thinking about that last sentence. Miranda seemed aware of her mistake and cleared her throat.

"I'm thinking of trying out the head chef's evening speciality," she said. Shepard was ripped out of his onsetting melancholy and almost choked laughing.

"I love you, Miri. And seeing you suffer the consequences of the 'exotic seafood' would break my heart!" he said. Miranda laughed and continued browsing the menu.

"Okay. I think I've changed my mind and have opted to settle for this something a bit milder toward human appetites," Miranda said with a smile and shut down the menu. Shepard selected an Asari dish similar to an vegetable stew with Indian origins.

"You look stunning tonight!" Shepard said. "How was work?" he said, trying to avoid talking about his session with Alan. Miranda took a sip of her cocktail.

"Thanks! It's been a tough week. We're trying to chase down leaks in the exchange of data between researchers, but to no avail. I thought I was overqualified for this job at first, but it seems there are challenges to this as well," Miranda explained while examining her surroundings. It was a habit she had never gotten around to quit, even if there was no immediate threats to her since her father's death and the demise of Cerberus. Shepard wasn't bothered, but he felt concerned when it seemed like she couldn't let her guard down and relax

"I'm certain that without your talents they would have been out of business a long time ago," Shepard said, admiring the beauty of the setting sun and his stunning companion. "I'm sure," Miranda said as another Salarian came to the table.

"Your drink, sir!" He said and placed a tall glass filled with an orange liquid before Shepard. "But I hadn't..." he protested but the waiter was long gone. Miranda smiled at him.

"I took the liberty," she said and stole a sip from his glass and smacked her lips gently. "Asari...wine I suppose. Made from fruits that only grow in the equatorial regions of Thessia. Hard to come by after the war, but I have my ways," she said. Shepard lifted the awkwardly shaped glass and took a sip. He could feel his cheeks becoming rosey instantly and the taste was reminiscent of sweet strawberries but still unlike anything he'd ever tasted.

After a short time, their food arrived and it was a feast for the eyes, colorful and carefully arranged. Miranda had ordered a smoking hot dish with roasted vegetables from every corner of the galaxy, two types of white meat, four sauces and a piece of bread to go along. Shepard's stew almost boiled in the ornate, copper bowl it was served in and the accompanying cabbage-like vegetable one was supposed to dip in the stew had the scent of exotic spices with familiar yet foreign taste.

"I was thinking, and this is just a crazy thought I had while compiling tedious reports at work, perhaps we would be better off in a more rural setting," Miranda said while tenderly cutting her meat.

"Yeah?" Shepard said. Waiting for the stew to cool somewhat.

"Not that I dislike it here, but let's face it, it's not like we need the credits I bring in and you'd probably feel better with a change of scenery," she explained.

"I would feel better if my mental state improved, and you know my first session with Worth was today," Shepard said, his tone more irritated than Miranda deserved for bringing up such an innocent thought. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I didn't even want to talk about it, but opening up to him, a complete stranger, was harder than it seems," he said. Miranda said nothing for a moment and focused on her food.

"I'm sorry. It was just a silly thought," Miranda said, clearly hurt by Shepard's abrasiveness.

"No!" Shepard insisted and took her hand. "I know you mean well, I'm just eager to explore this possiblity, you know how much his insight into the human mind is sought after," he said, brushing her hand with his gently. "If this is a dead end, I'd be more than happy to settle anywhere with you. I love you, more than you could possibly know,"

Miranda smiled and turned her hand to grab his and held it tight for a minute. "I know, John. It just feels like we're living in some alternate reality here and I had this longing for something fresh, a new start," she said.

"It's okay, I understand that, and as I said, if this doesn't pan out, we'll try something new. If that means I have to become a potato farmer in the Attican Traverse, so be it," Shepard said and they both laughed.


	3. Realizations

_I apologize for the lapse in content creation. I have little time for writing, happening mostly when I unload my truck at work. Work and family take up most of the time. But here you have the third chapter of our journey into Shepard's shattered mind. /Johan_

 **Chapter III:** **Realizations**

Three days after Shepard's meeting with psychologist-in-exile Alan Worth, he'd been asleep at least six solid hours per night. He'd been waking up before six o'clock, sweat running down his back and forehead, but there were no flashbacks or recollections of nightmares as he woke up. _Perhaps a sign of healing,_ he had said to Miranda one morning. She encouraged the positive mindset but warned him that dealing with post-traumatic stress and other related mental illnesses would be a life-long battle. _As if I haven't lived through enough battles,_ he had thought anxiously but with more than enough determination to halt any encroaching self-pity.

"My dear John!" Alan greeted him as he welcomed him into his office. "How have you been?" he asked.

"Things have been improving," he answered. "The nightmares are gone, I think. If they're present, I can't remember them," Alan nodded as he took notes.

"I've been looking through your psychological profile kept in the Alliance database. Your evaluator was quite throughout I must say, and his summary truly painted a picture of a soldier at the peak of mental hardiness and performance," Alan said while eyeing a document in his omni-tool.

"Yes. Apart from the evaluation you undergo in basic training, for induction into the special forces, the psych-eval was extensive," Shepard said, remembering the grueling psychological stress tests he had to undergo before achieveing N7 status. Many comrades failed where he persevered. A shame, he thought, that after all that he was the one needing therapy.

"And you believe that you were at this peak the moment you set foot on Eden Prime?" Alan asked. Shepard didn't answer immediately but shut his eyes and tried to recall that day. They didn't know anything by that point, not the severity of the threat or even its very nature. It was just a mission like any other, at first.

"Yes. I believe I was. There was nothing that tipped us off to the scale and horror of what had been set in motion by that time," Shepard answered.

"That came later?" Alan asked.

"Yes," said Shepard. "At first we were merely concerned that the Geth had come out of the Perseus Veil, that this monstrosity that seared Eden Prime with its fusion torches was a ship of their design," Shepard said, the scorched landscape etched into his memory, fertile fields transmuted to burning coals. "But as we unraveled the tread, the threat became clear," Shepard said, staring at a carved statue of a sword in Alan's bookcase.

"I am curious as to how you felt, emotionally during these initial weeks. Are there any thoughts you remember that seem out of place?" Alan asked. Shepard leaned over and looked into his hands, trying to recall those past years. "It feels like a lifetime ago," Shepard said anxiously.

"Take your time. We're not in a hurry," Alan said, his voice deeper and compassionate.

"The intial weeks were not troubling, that came later. I remember feeling...dread, after our encounter with one Reaper, Sovereign, the one that attacked the Citadel. I've never been one to worry about the existential questions in life, at least not before then," Shepard said. "But the amount of unsettling events one after another, culminating in that final, or so we thought, that final battle. It made me realize how deep the water humanity's threading really is. That surely spurred an uncomfortable tought or two in my mind," He continued. Alan nodded took notes.

"I think I compartmentalized a lot during these years. We received such training in special forces, to prevent shellshock, or PTSD. But after I...died," Shepard said and chuckled, then took his hand to his mouth. "After that, I felt that whatever fortress I had built up in my mind began to slowly erode, brick by brick," He said, feeling his eyes water just a little. "It was a difficult journey, lot of ups and downs, but we came out on top," he said and nodded to himself.

"To be frank, I believe that I was affected minimally by mental health issues before the Reaper attack on Earth. That...struck me more severely than anything else," Shepard said. He thought back to that day they had left Earth, the war-torn cityscape, civilians paralyzed by dread and scorched by the energy weaponry of the invading forces. And that child. Shepard shivered.

"I began having lucid dreams. Recollections of that escape from Earth, necessary but heart-wrenching. We left them there. For a good cause of course, but devastating. I routinely sat in my cabin, crying my heart out between briefings, missions, dilemmas and endless travel between star systems,"

"Tell me more about these dreams," Alan said. Shepard felt a lump forming at the back of his throat.

"A child that we left on Earth. I kept chasing him, always just out of reach,"

"A manifestation of your bad conscience?" Alan asked rethorically. Shepard nodded and sat up straight in the armchair.

"As a soldier, sacrifice is an axiom. It might be lives, family or sanity that you put on the altar. But given time, you can come back a whole person. But I've never felt whole again. Seeing that child go up in smoke, whether it was ever real or not, haunts me,"

"A symbol of humanity, an apparition of your mind?" Alan asked. Shepard shrugged.

"Maybe. It, and the apperance of Harbinger, are the main weapons of this illness," Shepard remarked. Alan nodded in compassion.

"John," Alan said and leaned in. "You must understand that the endeavor you undertook is unrivaled by any human undertaking in our history. Add to this your journeys in and out of existence, twice, your mind is all things considerd quite strong. But we all have limits, but you mustn't consider it a personal failure. You sitting here is a remarkable thing, and even thought that is hard to come to terms with given the severity of your experiences, I want you to hear it from my mouth," Alan said. Shepard sighed in relief.

"You mentioned that you haven't considered existentialist thoughts before these intense years, but I can't imagine anything that could trigger an existential crisis more than saving interstellar civilization and then look on as life goes on for the majority," Alan continued. "I'm afraid you haven't been able to put words on it,"

Shepard thought about it in silence. Alan was right. He had been unable to cope with the return to a society that was not in a seemingly perpetual state of war. There had been no parades, no celebration in that wreckage of the derelict Catalyst superweapon where Shepard had been ready to face a permanent death.

"You know, I recall the last feeling going through my body before the inevitable, or so I thought, was about to happen," Shepard said.

"Yes?" Alan asked. Shepard leaned back and looked beyond Alan, out the windows upon a darkening violet sky.

"I felt at peace. I felt that my duty in this universe had been fulfilled. It wasn't the best of endings, but that red-letter day was to be my last,"

Alan took notes. "You feel that you're without purpose...now?" He asked. Shepad nodded slowly.

"I feel that once you've gone through so much, and you've made your mind up that it's finally over; having that peaceful eternal rest deprived of you when that is all you want, destroys you," Shepard explained. He was surprised at the realization and his ability to say it without choking up. "In the end I don't think the violent flashback or mental torment are the worst drawbacks of my survival. It's my empty soul,"


	4. Nightmares

It was almost dark, the twenty-five hour cycle of traffic danced across the Nos Astra skyline in the distance from where Shepard's and Miranda's apartment lay. The setting main sequence star was scattered in the atmosphere as a violet light from beyond the horizon, bathing the city in a surreal colorscape. Shepard sat behind the faint kinetic barrier of the balcony facing the center of the city, puring himself a highball glass of Asari liqour he'd bought on his way back from Alan.

His omni-tool rang from the living room. He didn't get up. Quiet. The faint hum of a hovering service vehicle passing by, the Salarian pilot giving Shepard a curious stare as it slipped by.

The omni-tool rang again. Miranda. He knew it. But he did not get up. He took a sip of the bitter liquid in his glass, it danced across his taste buds, leaving a faint sweet aftertaste after attacking with bitterness.

Now it was pitch black on the horizon. Four glasses in. He fell back in his seat, a dark blue sunbed that adjusted accordingly by automation, catched him gently. Time and space seemed to blur as his eyelids grew heavy, familiar faces appeared before him.

"Shepard, Shepard! Wake up Shepard!" Joker's voice cried out. Someone was in pain, there were fumes in the air riveting Shepard's throat. He couldn't feel his body. More screaming, Joker was silent.

"Joker! Jeff!" Shepard cried out before feeling out of breath.

"Shepard!" Now it was the Illusive Man, his voice twisted and mechanical. Unnatural.

"Miri?" Shepard whispered, his eyes tearing up. He felt out of breath. Bright lights were blinding him, and slowly, every breath became more difficult. The light was gone and the darkness enveloped. A child, the same he had witnessed a dozen times before the end; what should have been the end. Out of reach. Dust and darkness. Shepard began coughing, there was no air to breathe. Again, a bright light; the Asari rescuers? No, something was off. A faint humming sound, it grew louder. Organic, mashing sounds, insect-like clattering and vile yellow eyes. Collectors. A breath of fresh air and darkness gave way to light. The child, again, projected from a source unknown as it had been when on the Crucible. The same platform appeared, Shepard was manifested on it; he could feel his body again. He looked around. The child played hide and seek, disappearing behind the ducts and vents of the activation machination.

"John!" Mirandas voice. "Shepard!" It was Garrus, Liara and Kaidan. "Help me!" Ashley cried out. Shepard turned around, searching. They were nowhere to be found, until they all appeared. A huge crowd, anyone he had ever served with. Mordin, Grunt, Jacob, Joker, Anderson and so on. They all stood quiet, smiling and seemingly bidding their farewell. An ending, a warm feeling. But the moment was ruptured, the screeching sound of a human in pain permeated the soundscape along with the distinctive hum and clattering of Reaper machinery. The crowd went pale, Shepard looked at Miranda; her facial features distorted, twisted and corrupted. He tried to look away but there was no muscular response to his attempts.

"Help," He whispered. "Help me," No response. "Please," He said. Miranda was faceless, so was the rest of the crowd. Ghosts of their former selves. Shepard could not look away, and they were closing in.

"Help," It was barely a whiff of air. "Please," Tears streaming down his face.

"John!" Mirandas voice cut through the dreamscape and Shepard was snapped out of paralysis, fell out of the sunbed onto the soft balcony flooring.

"Please don't!" Shepard cried. "I can't see it! Please don't show me your face," He stuttered, mucus stuffing his nose and tears streaming.

"It's me John, you're awake! It was a bad dream!" Miranda said, kneeling down next to him and holding him tight.

"I don't want to see," He whispered, rocking back and forth.

"You won't have to, you won't," Miranda assured him quietly, swallowing a cry. "It's alright, now," Miranda said.

"I was meant to die, I had to. It's too much," Shepard whispered between the sulking. Miranda said nothing, burying her face where his shoulder met the neck. Now she was crying too.

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"It's hard," Miranda said. "He has his episodes, and I should be there. But it gets to me, seeing him like that. If you had told me seven years ago, that I would feel like this for someone, I'd tell you to bugger off with your nonsense,"

"It's a difficult phenomena, post-traumatic stress. It elludes us to this day, no patient is the same," Alan said, overlooking the central plaza in Nos Astras business hub. He took a sip of his drink. "And John has been brought back from the dead twice, a feat unrivaled in human history," He continued. Miranda didn't meet his eyes. "If that doesn't scar ones mind, I don't know what will," Miranda nodded in agreement.

"For the first time in my entire existence, I feel powerless," Miranda said. "It feels like he's standing on the precipice, and I cannot hold him back,"

"It is all quite normal Miranda, when our loved ones go through these things, it is hard for anyone to remain strong in mind," Alan said in a mild consoling tone. Miranda scoffed.

"I am not normal, Mr Worth. I was bred to be genetically, mentally and physically superior. It is not in my nature to let these things get to me," she said.

"That might be, yet here we are," Alan said and gestured at their surroundings, the pearl white stone square and the lilac deciduous trees planted in raised marble circle. "A devastating interstellar war, billions dead, and a galaxy altered forever. Yet your presumptions about your own being are to remain a constant, yes?" Alan said. Miranda noted a slight, but benevolent, irritation in his voice. She sighed and rolled her eyes. A strong breeze blew and furled her dark hair; a strand fell across her forehead and in front of her face. She looked down, distraught and ashamed. She was engineered to be better, the best.

"So my love of a man has undone my entire creation," Miranda said. Alan's eyes pointed to the sky and the breeze caught the few strands of hair left on his head.

"Not undone, my dear. Altered. You have a challenge before you, and from reading up on your background, I'm sure that is something you have experience to tackle with ease. Do not simply pity those who are unwell. Fight, fight to make them whole again!"


End file.
